THE TUB OF SAP

When you are wondering "What the hell?", a real good friend can tell you that a deep and useful tub of sap is to be found behind a known place in plain view on that corner right down the street, where sandwiches and the desire to consume sandwiches are found, and where car accidents sometimes occur. This place goes by many names you might know. Among them— Diner, Coffee House, Deli, Restaurant, (sometimes Gas Station). It is a place where the action is and you can have a glass of milk or two and settle into yourself for a time while looking out a window onto the street and the car accidents. There are small spaces within the larger, and when you find your space you can fully adjust your personal set-up for the right amount of comfort. First, you need some idea of who you are in order to have the opportunity to view all the possibilities of who you might be. (So I am told.) When you find the routine that best suits you, a regular place, a regular sandwich and beverage (and sugary product), perhaps even a favorite dress combo (shirt and hat and shoes) to wear regularly, then you may gain access to that secret tub of sap wherein the underlying method in which all activity begets activity will reveal to you the organic, source binding agent for stabilizing all frequencies. A good friend will lead you to this place and will tell you (as I have been told) that once the idea of self has settled, and you know the right pace to chew your food, then all activity relaxes into a pattern as you digest (even the car accidents occurring beyond the window on that dangerous corner). This shall heighten sensitivity to the daily micro-movements affecting one another. This is when the tub of sap may crystallize and make itself solid. Beyond your window view, a fat ant is seeking sugar as it struggles through the pool of congealing blood drained from the car accident victim on the street corner outside the diner where you carefully chew your sandwich and drink your glass of milk, dreaming of access to the deep tub of sap.

THE BALLAD OF MISTER JIM’S NINE TROUBLES

Meet Mister Jim.

He be havin’ a real hard time.

Mister Jim just don’t understand

That all’s not headin’ in a straight line.

Mister Jim got nine troubles.

Nine troubles he got.

Everything pilin’ up,

Till his brain’s a heavy knot.

He be with a gal named Lucy,

Who once made him laugh.

But now it’s all yellin’ and screamin’,

Like some kinda slaughtered calf.

He be eatin’ too much candy,

Always cravin’ the sweet.

So now he got a mouthful of rot

With gums of raw and stinkin’ meat.

He be havin’ a serious bug problem,

Despite sprayin’ some real toxic shit.

Got a heavy duty infestation in the walls,

Drivin’ him into a real fit.

He be havin’ difficulty learnin’

Why things are the way they are.

But askin’ deep questions all day and night

Get him nothin’ but a head full of tar.

He been workin’ on the house

Tryin’ to repair all that crumblin’ brick.

Been mixin’ up some super thick mortar,

But them goddamn blocks won’t stick.

And then there’s that fuckin’ front lawn,

Which he can’t get to grow no matter what.

Been seedin’ and fertilizin’

But in the end there ain’t nothin’ to cut.

He got a hard-ass boss named Carl,

A cocksucker if there ever was one.

‘bout a hair away from takin’ care of that prick

With a bottle and a loaded gun.

He got a stomach that won’t keep shit down,

Even after finishin’ a bunch o' Pepto-Bismol.

Spends hours emptyin’ himself out,

Feelin’ like he’s been hit with a cannon ball.

Yeah he got real trouble gettin’ it up,

With no more excitement in that fuck stick.

Though he can’t really say why,

He be tellin’ Lucy it‘s because of a deer tick.

Poor Mister Jim.

Nine troubles he got.

Beatin’ his head to a pulp,

Tryin’ to undo that big ass knot.

All that trouble been takin’ a strange toll,

As he now got a little hole in the top of his head.

Weird shit’s been happenin’ at night

While he be tossin’ around in the bed.

Despite puttin’ bandaids on that wound,

And shovin’ wads of cotton in the hole,

Tiny little stones keep poppin’ out

(Enough to fill an entire bowl).

Mister Jim was makin’ stones

That looked like little black pits.

They piled up mighty fast,

Scarin’ him out of his wits.

Then this pile of stones,

That he kept in a burlap sack,

Started to speak to him one night,

Tellin’ him to place them in a neat stack.

The image appeared to Mister Jim,

In the middle of a deep sleep:

Make nine holes in a thick block of fresh pine

And carefully place the stones within each, deep.

And he did this, carefully,

On the following night.

Something wonderful happened,

Which seemed to correct his blight.

The block of pine vibrated,

And the little stones in the nine holes began to hum.

He found himself with a hard-on,

And a new sense of tackling whatever may come.

The wood throbbed,

The stones sung,

Mister Jim blissed out

And was once again young.

Meet Mister Jim.

He be touchin’ the sublime.

Mister Jim came to understand

That it don’t need to be in a straight line.

Mister Jim got nine stacks of singin’ stones.

Nine holes of singin’ stones he’s got.

Everything lookin’ up

His brain’s turning white hot.